


Croc Week

by istie



Series: Shoes Make the Man [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Crack Fic, Crocs, Gen, Sneakerheads, the eternal battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 22:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14482683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istie/pseuds/istie
Summary: The Five Times Shane Madej Wore Crocs To Fuck With Ryan Bergara (And The One Time He Didn't)





	Croc Week

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn't start my day intending to write 3k of crackfic featuring Shane being a little shit, but here we are. Massive thanks to everyone over at the writers' Discord for cheering me on this afternoon, and of course, to my wonderful patron, who shall remain anonymous, but who commissioned this great work in much the same vein as the great patrons of the arts commissioning works that will challenge and edify the soul - much like, for instance, Ryan Bergara, commissioning the critically acclaimed high art piece known as the Hot Daga. I owe you a great debt, friend.

** Day Zero (Sunday): The Prelude **

It was four-thirty AM when they touched down at Denver International, and everyone in the Unsolved crew was sporting a thousand-yard stare and dragging their feet almost as much as they were dragging their luggage. No one was in a good mood as they trudged towards their connecting flight, so it came as no real surprise to anyone that when they had to step into the pouring rain briefly to change terminals, and Ryan winced at the prospect of getting his spotless, snow-white Jordans wet, Shane sighed in exasperation.

"They'll be _fine_ , Ryan," he said, with a vague eyeroll.

Ryan blinked and looked up at him, affronted, and several of the crew frowned. "Dude. Just because _you_ don't take care of your shoes doesn't mean _I_ can't. They're not fucking _Crocs_."

Shane's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't say a word. When they got to the other building, and Ryan paused to dry off the leather on his sneakers, Shane excused himself and said he'd meet them at the gate. Fifteen minutes later, he showed up with an unmarked plastic bag on his arm, and once they were on the plane, he promptly fell asleep with it tucked under his messenger bag – completely foiling any of Ryan's attempts to see what was inside.

 

 

** Day One (Monday): The Beginning **

Ryan barely got to work on time that Monday morning, bleary-eyed and feeling like he was still half-asleep. He slumped into his chair and stared into his coffee cup for fifteen minutes before managing to even log into his computer. It took him until Shane sat down beside him, an hour later, to notice that his coworker wasn't even there.

"Morning," Ryan mumbled, staring at Premiere and trying to make the frames make sense to his exhausted brain. "Sleep in?"

"Nope," came the far-too-cheery reply. "Been out working on a video."

Ryan turned, raising an eyebrow. "What? First thing Monday morning? Did you clear it yesterday or something?"

Shane met him with a grin Ryan knew _far_ too well to be comfortable with. "Sure did," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "It's a doozy. You're gonna love it."

Ryan squinted at him, then decided this was far too much mental activity for only two cups of coffee, and turned back to his screen. "Cool. Let me know if you need a hand."

"Oh, I will," Shane said, and also turned to his computer.

Ryan did not like the way that that single phrase had sounded like a promise, a threat, and the set-up to a terrible punchline, all at once.

* * *

Another two cups of coffee later, Ryan felt marginally more like himself, and as the lunch hour approached and his stomach started to growl, he began to regret the four cups of coffee and pitiful breakfast he'd consumed. Luckily for him, a notification popped up in the Tasty channel on the Buzzfeed Discord server: free chicken wings, ten minutes.

"Hey," he said, nudging Shane's elbow with his, "did you see the Tasty squad have chicken wings?"

"Oooh," Shane replied, nudging back. "I'm down. Wanna walk over together?"

"Hell yeah," he said, pushing back from his desk and stretching.

"Hang on, two seconds, just let me save..." Shane said, typing. He then pushed his chair back too, and—

"What. The _fuck_. Are you wearing." Ryan's horrified tone made several of their coworkers look up quizzically, only to catch Shane's glimmering smile and Ryan staring, shocked and appalled, at the floor. Two of them even stood up, to see if they could figure out what Ryan was looking at.

"Oh, do you like them?" Shane said, eyes crinkling as he grinned ear to ear. "I picked them up while we were away. Figured I ought to have a pair of shoes I could really invest in, you know?"

Ryan couldn't decide whether to scream or to cry. Maybe both. Adorning his (soon to be ex-) best friend's feet were [a pair of the gaudiest Crocs](https://images.crocs.com/is/image/Crocs/204612_4K6_ALT140?&fmt=jpeg&qlt=85,1&op_sharpen=0&resMode=sharp2&op_usm=1,1,6,0&iccEmbed=0&printRes=72&wid=440&hei=365) he'd ever had the misfortune to see: they might have been navy blue under all the godawful geometric-patterned multicoloured stripes, but they hurt his eyes to look at anyway. He figured they could only be worse if any of the stripes were fluorescent. "I..." He blinked, and swallowed. He was speechless.

"I know, I know," Shane said, leaning in towards Ryan a little (Ryan recoiled instinctively) and adopting a conspiratorial tone, "I know what you're thinking. Me? Shane Madej, becoming a shoe connoisseur?" He reached out and put a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "I think you've been rubbing off on me, li'l buddy. I'm just so inspired."

Ryan made some sort of horrified sound that came to an abortive end in his throat.

 

 

** Day Two (Tuesday): The Decor **

Ryan made his way cautiously to his desk on Tuesday morning, ready for anything. Sure enough, Shane was there already, and he had his feet up on the desk – and even from here, Ryan could see he was wearing the stupid Crocs again. He heaved a sigh of exasperation, and sat down hard in his chair.

"Oh hey Ryan," Shane said, nonchalantly. "I got some neat new additions to my shoes, look!"

Ryan looked. It was hard not to, because Shane's legs were so damn long that his propped-up feet were literally in front of Ryan's keyboard. The idiot had added little buttons to the shoes. "I don't—"

"They're called Jibbitz!" Shane exclaimed, grinning. "Did you know they had a name? I sure didn't." He reached down – good Lord, his arms were long – and pointed at them each in turn. "I've got a popcorn one, and a Lightning McQueen one, and a Mickey Mouse head, and even a little BB-8!" He looked up at Ryan, and the beaming smile was almost sincere enough to melt Ryan's frozen heart.

"You, sir," Ryan said, tearing his eyes away from the eye-searingly offensive shoes and leveling a stare at Shane, "are committing an affront to shoekind."

Shane's grin turns to half a smirk, in a way that Ryan is pretty sure he's the only one that sees through – except Sara, probably. The grin that anyone else would think is just a happy-go-lucky, insouciant grin, but he knows better: that grin means mischief. That grin means trickery. That grin means _trouble_. "The world takes all kinds, Ry. My shoes are, much like my writing, high art."

Ryan rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt, and got to work.

* * *

Later that day, Shane went into the break room to get a cup of tea. As he was mixing the sugar in, he heard someone come in the door, and turned to see Eugene. "Hey man," he said, smiling, "what are you working on today?"

"Hey!" Eugene replied, smiling back. "Working on a new fashion vid, looking at international menswear, it's really coming toge—" Eugene stopped midsentence, having glanced down. "Shane."

"Eugene," Shane replied amiably, stirring cream into his tea.

"What... are those."

Shane put the lid on his travel mug and turned around, leaning back against the counter. "Oh these? They're my Crocs."

"Why are you wearing Crocs." Eugene couldn't seem to look away from Shane's feet.

He shrugged. "Fashion statement?"

Eugene looked up at him, frowned, and tilted his head ever so slightly. "... Are you trying to piss Ryan off?"

Shane let half a grin creep onto his face. "You know it."

Eugene was silent for a moment, contemplating. Finally, he said, "I know a guy."

 

 

** Day Three (Wednesday): The Guy **

It was ten-thirty AM on a deserted road somewhere in Los Angeles. You could swear a tumbleweed might have blown by at any moment; it felt like the seconds before a showdown in a Western.

At one end of the block, an Uber pulled up. A man with more leg than common sense (if you asked his best friend, that is) unfolded himself from the tiny car. At the other end of the block stood a small shop. The tall man walked into it as the Uber idled. The bell chimed, faintly, and then the street was silent for several minutes.

The bell chimed again, and the tall man walked out, a small bag peeking out of his jeans pocket and his phone in his hand. He walked back down the street and folded himself back into the Uber.

The sign above the store read “Curious Charms: Your Custom Crocs Store”.

The man, inside the car, sent a text message. _can't wait for you to see my new Jibbitz!_

A minute later, the response: _fuck you._

* * *

Ryan was sitting at his desk when Shane finally got to work that afternoon, and he refused to look over as the tall man sat down in his chair.

"Afternoon, Ryan," he said cheerfully, logging into his computer. "How was the morning?"

"Fine," Ryan said, still stubbornly staring at his screen. "Editing. You know."

"Sure do," Shane replied, sympathetically. "I got something that'll cheer you up."

 _Oh God,_ Ryan thought. "I'm afraid to ask."

"Ry," Shane said, sounding shocked, "I'm hurt. You know I always have your best interests at heart."

Ryan closed his eyes. God, he was tired. "Uh huh. Sure. Whaddaya got for me, big guy?" He heard the sound of something being put on the desk in front of him, and opened his eyes.

There was a little shoe charm – what the fuck had Shane called them? Gibbits? No. Jibbitz. With a z. The Z was important, apparently – between Ryan and his keyboard: a little ghost. Ryan _finally_ looked over at Shane. "...thanks?"

Shane grinned. "Of course! It reminded me of you. I know you don't have a pair of Crocs to put it on, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right? So I got you a little Timmy."

Ryan couldn't help but smile a little. It _was_ kinda cute.

No! No it wasn't. It was _not_ cute. It was horrible and awful and offensive to shoes.

... It was kinda cute.

 

 

** Day Four (Thursday): The Glam **

Ryan was enjoying a coffee break on the picnic table out back of the offices on Thursday morning when Shane strode over from the parking lot. Ryan noticed primarily because, even though he was wearing his sunglasses, Shane was somehow glittering brightly enough that it was hurting his eyes. When Shane finally got close enough for Ryan to actually see him behind all the iridescence, he realized that his best friend was absolutely _covered_ in bedazzling jewels.

"What ... the fuck, Shane," Ryan breathed.

"Video!" Shane sang out, not stopping as he walked by Ryan into the office.

Ryan blinked and shook his head. Surely he'd been on an LSD trip all this week. Shane had spiked his coffee Monday morning and put him into a coma. Shane was secretly a trickster god after all and was literally just fucking with Ryan.

Anything made more sense than this week. _Anything_.

* * *

Ryan didn't see much of Shane again that day, until Shane finally sat down at his desk around two in the afternoon. "You're a busy man today, Mr Madej," Ryan quipped, glancing up at him. Still covered in bedazzlement. The man looked like a 90s sleepover exploded on him, iridescent jewels artfully stuck all over any patch of bare skin available in a myriad of colours. It was honestly kind of mesmerizing.

"You know it," Shane agreed. "Gotta get that sweet, sweet viral content."

Ryan turned to him. "What even is this video you're working on? I haven't seen anything come up in my email about it. Is that why you got ... bedazzled?"

Shane grinned. "Artful, isn't it? They even did my shoes!" He pushed back from the desk, turned his chair, and lifted his feet – sure enough, the goddamn Crocs made Ryan want to gouge his eyes out _even more_ now, having been carefully outlined and swirled with flashy jewels _that didn't even match the colours on the shoe._

"I..." Ryan tore his eyes away and looked back up at Shane. "You didn't answer my question."

That damn grin again.

 

 

** Day Five (Friday): The End **

Friday dawned bright and early, and Ryan couldn't believe it but he was actually almost _looking forward_ to what Shane had in store for him that day. If he knew his friend at all, the end of the work week would mean the culmination of whatever he'd been building up to. Ryan cracked his neck, put the lid on his coffee, and steeled himself for the incoming storm.

The morning was quiet. No Shane again. He'd been missing quite a lot that week: it meant Ryan didn't have to stare at those terrible shoes as much as he'd expected to, which was a blessing, but he did miss Shane's company. He hadn't gotten _quite_ so much done on the editing that week as he'd hoped, bereft of his work buddy.

He sighed, pushed back from his desk a bit, and spun his chair around, sticking his feet in the air and staring at his Jordans. He'd worn his favourite pair today – well, his favourite pair that he'd chance taking to work with him.

Buzzfeed was a messy place, he thought. Maybe he needed a pair of shoes he could chance— **_no._**

* * *

At lunch, Shane showed up, bearing plastic bags which he put down between their workstations. "I brought you lunch," he said, taking off his sunglasses.

"Oh!" Ryan exclaimed, looking up at him in surprise. "Uh, you didn't have to, did I miss something?" Shane grinned. Oh no.

"Nope, you didn't miss anything!" he replied, opening the bags. "But I went out and got more stuff for my shoes, and I was just feeling so inspired by your devotion to your hobbies and how it got me into this whole mess, that I wanted to say thanks by bringing you lunch."

Ryan squinted. Shane was still grinning. Something wasn't right. "Thanks? I guess? What... What are we having?" He motioned at the bags, and was rewarded with—

With a hot dog, dressed just the way he liked them, and a box of fries, a can of root beer, and a stupid fucking pickle.

"Oh no," Ryan breathed, "you didn't."

Shane plopped down into the desk chair and put his right foot up on his left knee. "I sure as fuck did, Bergara: here's Future Brendan, and the cutest little French fries you ever did see – that's Gene – and Mike Soup, and Maisie, and..."

Ryan stared, dumbly, at the collection of custom charms on his friend's shoe. This was a power move, to be sure, but this wasn't the end. This didn't taste like the end of one of Shane's pranks. The other shoe – _groan_ – had yet to drop.

... There was a company party Saturday night.

Shit.

 

 

** Day Six (Saturday): The Epilogue **

Ryan actually felt _nervous_ as he approached the beachfront club Buzzfeed had rented out for the evening. The party had not been orchestrated by Shane, and had in fact been planned for at least a month, but... There wasn't much he'd put past his long-legged friend.

This was a fancy occasion, or at least, semi-fancy: this was a milestone celebration, an anniversary, a looking-forward-to-the-future party. Ryan, therefore, had dressed for the occasion, as instructed: suit and tie, clean-shaven, and the nicest pair of Jordans he owned that he'd let out of the house.

He wasn't early – the doors had opened fifteen minutes before. He took a glass of champagne as he entered and went to sit with Steven and Eugene, who were deep in conversation already.

After a few minutes, he'd forgotten all about Shane and his dumb Crocs. He was so invested in the conversation that he didn't even see the man himself walk in, fifteen minutes later, looking sharp as hell in a suit that seemed to be cut similar to his Clark Gable getup – and not a Croc in sight.

He did, however, have a large box under his arm, and the grin was unmistakable.

* * *

Three hours later, pleasantly drunk and full of food, Ryan took his shoes and socks off and headed out onto the beach. Helen was out of town, so he was on his lonesome tonight, but it wasn't too bad, hanging out with all your friends and watching the sun go down over the bay.

He heard someone walk up behind him, and turned to see Shane, who was holding a box. "Hey dude," Ryan said, "having fun?"

"Yeah, great party," Shane replied. "You're not wearing your Jordans on the beach, are you?"

Ryan looked shocked. "God no! I left them with the coat check."

"You were willing to _part with them?"_ Shane said, looking shocked himself. "That's a lot of trust in the hired security, man."

Ryan laughed. "I happen to know the guy working tonight, it's chill."

Shane put on a serious face. "Well. We can't have you walking on a beach barefoot, Ryan, that's dangerous." HE shook his head. "There could be broken glass."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure they keep their beach clean, dude, what are you—" His stomach dropped. "Oh no. Oh _no_. This is what you've been working up to all week, isn't it."

Shane's lips twitched towards a smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but this _does_ give me the perfect opportunity to give you something I brought for you tonight." He held out the box. "From one shoe lover to another."

Ryan took it, trepidation filling his soul. What atrocities were contained within its cardboard walls? He opened it, slowly, and blinked. "What... in the absolute fuck..."

Contained within the box were three pairs of shoes: the first, an [unholy cross](http://i2.wp.com/sojones.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/CrocsxJordan_03.jpg?w=640) between a pair of Air Jordans and a pair of Crocs; the second, a straight-up pair of [black Crocs](https://images.crocs.com/is/image/Crocs/205169_086_ALT110?&fmt=jpeg&qlt=85,1&op_sharpen=0&resMode=sharp2&op_usm=1,1,6,0&iccEmbed=0&printRes=72&wid=440&hei=365) with the _Swedish Chef_ on them; the third, a pair of Air Jordans which had been bedazzled within an inch of their life.

He looked up at Shane, who was grinning like a madman. "None of these are great beachwear, dude. Two of them have holes in them, and one isn't getting anywhere near sand, whether or not it's covered in plastic jewels." He frowned, then, another thought striking him. "What are _you_ wearing? Even you wouldn't wear dress shoes on the beach, and again, Crocs have holes in them ... "

He looked down as Shane pulled up the legs of his pants a couple inches, and Ryan felt his soul turn black with despair. Birkenstocks. With socks.

"Like 'em?" Shane asked. "They're comfy as hell."

Ryan couldn't do anything but blink.

* * *

A month later, Ryan saw a new video pop up in his YouTube feed, featuring Shane's grinning face: "Crocscourse: What's The Big Deal?"

Oh  _no_.

 


End file.
